28

Shouldn't let my 28th birthday go by without notice here. So, I'm 28. Since last year's birthday was a bit of a let-down, I didn't organize any big party in my village. I did, however, wake up to a cake that my host-mother baked for me (pictured here).

The following weekend, however, my fellow-Gagauzian PCVs – who oddly also had April birthdays – held a three-way birthday Toga Olympiad. The toga part didn't really come off; virtually no one brought sheets and it was a little cold. There weren't may games to speak of either; they consisted of one half-field soccer game that some of us played against some foul-mouthed local kids. But, we really nailed the food portion of the weekend – club sandwiches, bean soup, gyros, muffins, and omelets. It was a great weekend.

A Hero, Digging, Women, and Business

First, a moment of silence for the passing of Captain America, my favorite comic book hero. Apparently, he was shot and killed a couple weeks ago (although how many times have comic book heros come back from beyond?) For those who don’t know, Captain America started out as a fairly scrawny lad, unfit for military service during WWII. But, he had heart, and so volunteered to test a special “super soldier serum.” The serum gave him super strength, and he went on to have many adventures attempting to do what most superheroes do, save the world.

The way Captain America got his start is, in my opinion, a bit silly – nothing more than glorified steroids. I stopped collecting comic books when I was about 13, and I can’t say I’m any kind of expert concerning Captain America or that I’ve kept up with his exploits as of late, but I always liked him for his unbending idealism and honesty. He was a real straight shooter, in contrast to other, perhaps more questionable heroes/vigilantes like the Punisher or Wolverine who tended to meat out justice with a heavy hand. Even Captain America’s “weapon,” an indestructible shield which he could throw like a boomerang, was essentially a defensive instrument that could be used offensively when necessary. In a world of gray Captain America was about as close to white as comic book heroes come, and I, for one, will miss him. When I get home, I’ll have to dig out some old comics and relive a bit of my childhood.


Anyway, this blog is supposed to be about my Peace Corps experience, so let’s get to that. Now that the weather is getting warmer and the earth is less frozen, a lot of digging is going on. My host-brother, Vitalik, dug a new toilet and covered up the old, full one. People are planting potatoes and onions in their gardens, and trimming grape vines to encourage new shoots. One of the schools here dug a new well, and I helped out a little one day. These projects are basically carried out with a shovel, bucket, and a rope – very different from the mechanized digging of wells in America. At the school, how many people showed up to help struck me. A few of the workers were being paid, but many were simply the fathers of school children who wanted to make things better for their own. I admire that.

March 8th marked Women’s Day. This is similar to the American Mother’s Day, except that it’s for all women. I had a great time at a concert held in one of the school auditoriums. The local dance troupe performed several times and lots of people sang. The singing is a neat experience because everyone in the audience seems to know all the words to these folk songs. I’d imagine it would be like in America if we all sang “This Land is Your Land” or “Home on the Range.” But I just don’t think we have that sort of culture. Oh yeah – I also got up to sing. There were performances in Russian, Gagauz, and Romanian, so I started out by saying that as March 8th is an international holiday, it was only fitting that there be a performance in English as well. I then proceeded to introduce the audience to the wonder that is The Stray Cats’ “Rock This Town.” I think everyone got a kick out of it, and the whole concert, including my performance, has been replayed several times on the local TV channel.

Bryan and Amy came to Copceac for the weekend to run another of our small business Poosk seminars. Since it was on my turf, I was responsible for all the logistics. I was really worried that all the kids who had signed up to attend wouldn’t show, but on our first day we actually had well more than I had anticipated – actually it made the seminar a bit difficult to conduct with so many people in the room. But, fortunately (???) we had the typical attrition rate so days 2 and 3 were a bit more manageable.

Participants this time came up with creating a movie theater, a pizzeria, and a gym. I thought all of them were good ideas, though each needed to be a little clearer or do a little more research regarding their projected budgets. Nonetheless, the fact that they’re simply making budgets BEFORE beginning a project puts them well ahead of their peers and even some NGO directors. [One such director from another part of Moldova refuses to make a budget for a remodeling project because he/she claims that the costs can only be known once the project is complete.]

This seminar was the first time that Bryan, Amy, and I gave real feedback to students on their presentations and awarded a prize to the group that did the best job. In the past, we simply asked questions as a way to expose weaknesses in the presentations because we didn’t want to offend or discourage participants. Ultimately, we decided that the educational value was worth it – if we don’t flat out tell these students things like (a) not to look at only one person during a presentation, (b) not to have your back to the audience when presenting, or (c) that their budgets are unrealistic, who will?

I really liked having guests at my house, and look forward to an upcoming shared birthday party with Bryan and Amy. Coincidentally, the only three PCVs living in Gagauzia, who happen to be the same three PCVs who run Poosk, also happen to have their birthdays on April 13, 19, and 23. Small world.

"Caroling"

Loyal readers of this blog may recall my "caroling" experience from last year. Well, I did it again this year, and I'm pleased to announce that this time I made it through the entire evening. We started to don our cross-dressing costumes and face paint at 7pm on Christmas Eve (Jan 6) and I was asleep in my bed by 6am on Christmas Day (Jan 7). In between, we drove to all the houses of workers in the mayor's office and other VIPs and basically sang and danced and made lots of noise until the inhabitants came out, no matter the hour.

When they came out - and they always did - they brought food and some form of alcohol. Last year, in my desire to be culturally sensitive during a festive holiday, I for the most part accepted any drink that was offered (read: forced) into

my hand. This year, I decided to put self-preservation ahead of cultural sensitivity and only sipped from the communal wine/vodka/cognac/champaign glass when it came my way. This "sipping" is very different than the typical "all in one shot" Moldovan style of drinking any kind of alcohol. To slightly alter one of the great Tom Hanks film lines, "There's no sipping in Moldova." It's all or nothing. But my plan worked, providing enough cultural adaptation so as to not offend the hosts while keeping the brain and liver functioning quite well.

It's also tradition for the hosts to put some money into the mouth of a wooden goat carried by one of the revelers. The goat's mouth opens and closes, and the host has to try to put the money into the mouth without getting his fingers caught. As a well-trusted outsider, I became the "American bank" and kept all the money that we collected from each household. Whenever kids were present, Santa gave 5 or 10 lei (40-90 cents) presents after making a small withdrawal from the bank - which was quite a leap of faith on the bank's part considering Santa had no identification and was wearing a fake beard. When work resumes on Tuesday, I'll bring all the money to the office and we'll decide what to do with it. We actually collected over $100. I don't know how this money has been used in past years, but I'm hoping that it will be spent on something to improve the efficiency of the office - like a new printer - instead of booze and cookies for future office birthday parties. We'll see...

A Bad Day for Pigs

[Warning: this post is a little more gruesome than my typical
entries. If you're squeamish, you might want to skip reading this.]

Moldovan Christmas, based on the Orthodox calendar, is Jan 7th. On
January 5th, pigs throughout my village were slaughtered for the
holiday feast. When I say slaughtered, I mean the pigs are brought
out of their pens in the backyard, pinned to the ground by several
men, and then a knife is inserted into their jugular and wiggled
around a lot. The pigs squeal/scream (by no means a pleasant sound)
and the blood drains onto the ground. It probably takes about two
minutes for the pig to actually die. I saw my host-brother and
neighbor do this with our pig, and shortly thereafter I heard the
squeals of another pig further down the road. My tutor tells me that
her mother's family also did the same.

I watched the whole slaughtering process [inside joke with DW], which
I will now relay to you. The body is the lifted up on a makeshift
table or grill, and a blowtorch is used to singe off all the hairs.
It takes several rounds of torching, scraping off the skin with a
knife, and rubbing water and salt over the body until the skin is
removed. Then an incision is made along the spine and stomach of the
pig, and several perpendicular cuts between those two create a grid-
like pattern over the pigs body. Pulling at one section with one
hand and cutting the connective tissue with the other, the sections
of fat that surround the pig's body are removed.



This fat is canned
in salt and water, and is eaten throughout the year like you or I
might put cheese on some bread. [I've tried this "sava" and am not a
fan.]

Then the rest of the pig is cut up. Legs are chopped off, the spine
is cut out with an ax, after which (in a pretty amazing way, I
thought), the ribs just fall open revealing all the organs inside.
At least where I was, the heart and lungs were fed to the dogs, but
everything else was saved. The intestines took some doing because
all the digestive juices - which looked like chunky mustard - had to
be cleaned out. They did this by cutting it into 1-meter pieces and
pouring water through it. Then more water was used to turn the
intestine section inside-out and clean it again.

I've yet to see exactly how all this will be prepared, but I now know
the first steps.

Parties at School and At Home

Admittedly, my December 25th was a muted affair here in Moldova. Considering everyone else in my village holds December 25th to be a normal day, my quiet Christmas shouldn't come a big surprise. To expect carolers and feasts and presents under the tree would be like expecting to see a group of Native Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

However, the following week the Moldovan holidays arrived and the party scene really started to heat up. Let's start at the school. My host brother, Vitalik, and his best friend, Seroj, were tapped to alternate dressing up as Деть Морож (dyet moroj), sort of the Moldovan equivalent to Santa Claus, and my friend Anna and Maria were Снегорчка (snegorichka), translated as snow-girl, who is supposed to be the grand-daughter of Dyet Moroj. They all had to memorize this long poem that they would recite for children who came to school for a few hours worth of games, singing, and dancing. It was a little like Halloween, with most of the children wearing costumes - the girls as princesses and the boys as everything from Spider-man to a doctor.

December 28 and 29, the school hosted a kind of winter ball for the high school juniors and seniors. It was nice to see everyone all dressed up, though I felt sorry for the girls who sometimes wore their coats over their strapless dresses. The dance differed from what I remember of American proms and such in a couple ways. First, there were games. Volunteers were picked from the crowd to compete in funny competitions. These were interspersed with the prerequisite lengthy (sometimes seemingly endless and melodramatic) toasts and then dancing to one song. Then everyone would sit down again and start the next round of game/toast/dance. Second, all the teachers were there. It seemed to be just as gala an event for them as it was for the kids. They also dressed up and participated in the games. Third, the evening was over pretty early - I think by 8 or 9pm.

Lastly, I'd like to talk about New Year's in Copceac. This was my second time in the village, and despite not having anyone to kiss at midnight, I enjoyed this time around better than the first. Why, you ask? Well, first of all the weather was a lot warmer this year. That meant more people came to the center for meeting and greeting, dancing, and watching the fireworks. It also meant I didn't have to sleep with all my clothes still on. Second, I was invited to a party this year at the home of one of the village teachers, who prepared a real feast. There were all these salads and cakes and two roast chickens. Vitalik asked me to prepare some games to play - Moldovans really like party games. I MCed (1) charades, (2) a race between two girls to open a matchbox wrapped in multiple layers of paper while wearing oven mits, and (3) a kind of dating game where all the couples had to answer nine questions about their respective partners - like favorite color, where he/she wants to live, favorite meal, etc. - and then they had to see how well they actually knew one another. And we danced. Before the girls arrived, it was just me and three other dudes, but that didn't stop us from cutting up the rug. It was actually really nice to be in a place where it is acceptable - or rather completely normal - for men to dance. In America, particularly in high schools, I always felt like it was somehow uncool or feminine to dance.

I called it a night around 3am, and everyone asked me if I had somehow been offended and that was why I was leaving early. EARLY?! It was three in the morning! Of course, having lived here for a year-and-a-half, I was prepared for this. I know that Moldovan celebrations, particularly at weddings, usually go until sunrise. I just don't have the energy for it. I think my hosts know that as an American, I have different standards and likes and dislikes and I told them I was definitely not offended and had had a great time. [And I wanted to do laundry and clean up before my host-mother returned from her month-long vacation the following day...]

That about sums up. Hope you all had a happy and healthy New Year's. С Новым Годом!!!

Christmas in Copceac

I didn’t feel particularly Christmas-y this year. It’s probably due to several factors. No one celebrates Christmas in Moldova until the Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. I wasn’t getting together with a group of PCVs as I did last year. Actually, of the 8 people who gathered last year, only 3 of us are left in Moldova. Oh yeah, and I went to work.

However, the night before I was able to indoctrinate Krista in the beauty of It’s a Wonderful Life, which she had never seen. It also seemed that events beyond my control were conspiring to put me in the mood. Our electricity was out for most of Christmas Day and into the 26th. This forced me, Krista, and my host-brother, Vitalik, to shy away from our computers and televisions and VCRs and DVDs and just entertain ourselves. I showed Vitalik and Krista how to play Texas Hold ‘Em Poker and he showed us some game that’s called some bad word in Russian that is essentially the English equivalent of “F-ed.” [Gambling and Cussing: How Jesus celebrates Christmas.] Then we cooked by candlelight – well, really it was more by headlamp, but that doesn’t sound a romantic and quaint – and ate a hearty meal. Krista and I had mashed potatoes, gravy, fried veges, and cornflake fried chicken. I know that last part sounds a little white trash, but it was damn good that I’ll definitely be making it again. We topped it off with some white Jell-o pudding, a box of mix courtesy of a care-package. [FYI, don't send any more Jell-o, which I don't really like. Pudding, however, is welcome.]

All in all, not a bad December 25th.

Gobble, Gobble

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I'm certain I've regained a few of the pounds that I've shed over the last 14 months in Moldova. A crack team of PCVs prepared a real feast for almost 300 PCVs, staff, embassy workers, and invited guests. There were turkeys and stuffing and cranberry sauce and gravy and pecan and pumpkin pies. "Full" doesn't begin to describe the way my stomach felt. And, there were even left-overs the following day for yet another feast at lunch.

Following the dinner, I hosted a PCV Talent Show. Highlights for me included a rockin' 80s lip sync medley, a line dance to both American and Moldovan music, and a performance of a hit Moldovan song - usually performed by a 3-year old girl (for real) - by my 30-year old male friend while dressed in drag and smoking. And word on the street is that my own performance of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was either beautifully poignant or grounds for dismemberment because I made everyone cry.

Thanksgiving wasn't all fun and games. All PCVs attened 3 days of a conference that addressed topics like our safety and security, secondary projects, appropriate dress for PCVs, and avian flu. Interestingly, despite being surrounded by avian flu findings in both Ukraine and Romania, Moldova has yet to find a single reported case. As most probably already know, the real danger of avian flu would be if the virus (the H5N1 strain) mutated to be able to infect humans from other humans, as the typical flu virus can do through the air. To prevent this, any infected birds or pigs - which can carry both the avian and human flu viruses at the same time, and thus act as incubators for a potential "super" virus strain - are slaughtered.

And just so I don't end this posting on the word "slaughtered," here's a nice picture.

Going to the Chapel

Yesterday, I was “hired” by one of the teachers to photograph her daughter’s wedding, probably more on account of owning a digital camera than any actual skill with it. Despite her wanting to pay me something, I refused (as PCVs are not allowed to have any income during our service – I hope my Country Director is reading!), and chose to use the day as an opportunity to experience part of the culture that I had heretofore not seen. [Yes, I just used, “heretofore.”]

I arrived at her house around 2:30 to capture some of the last minute preparations that were going on with all the girls getting dressed for the occasion – seems some things are the same all over the world… Then the groom arrived with another couple, typically a slightly older married pair who act like god-parents for the newly-weds. There’s a lot of music and dancing basically from this point until the wedding ends in the wee hours of the morning. The groom greets the bride, and they try to step on each other’s foot to see who will have the upper hand in the wedding – the groom got lucky, so I guess it’s nothing but barefoot and pregnant for the wifey. There’s lots of greeting of family and some gifts of money.

Then it’s into cars, honking all the way, to drive to the village’s House of Culture, where there’s a civil ceremony and the bride, groom, and “god-parents” sign the wedding certificate. They exchange rings, kiss, drink some champagne, and of course dance some more. Highlight for me was the ceremony’s background music, an instrumental version of George Michael’s “Careless Whisper.”

Then it’s more dancing and honking through the streets, followed by pictures in front of the WWII monument. Moldovans love to take wedding pictures in front of statues. There’s one of Stefan cel Mare, sort of the George Washington of Moldova, in Chisinau, and it’s basically impossible to walk past it on the weekend without seeing several wedding parties lined up to take their photos there. After the monument, we walked quite a distance to Copceac’s last well. Apparently this is a tradition that is only sometimes still honored because it really is quite a distance to walk. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a tradition I’d be willing to let die.

From the well, we hop back in the cars for a quick drive to the restaurant in the next town over. Before entering the hall, the wedding party eats some honey to ensure a sweet life together. There’s a huge line to get in while everyone greets the bride and groom and gives their gifts, usually more money. Then we eat, play some funny games, listen to a few speeches (including one by yours truly), and dance, dance, dance. In case you’re not really getting it thus far, Moldovans LOVE to dance, particularly this circular hora-like dance that just goes around and around forever.

Overall, a pretty great day.

9/11

Being outside of America and without access to the major media networks, I suppose it’s easy for a PCVs to forget the anniversary of 9/11. Though it hasn’t really been on my mind, I looked at my watch today and saw the date and it triggered this memory from 5 years ago…

I was in Boston, and was supposed to go to the State House that day for a lobbying visit – my first. I was pretty excited about it, and actually walked there, only to be turned away by the guards, who told me the building was closed and everyone had to leave on account of some emergency. When I got back to the office, I heard that a plane had flown into the WTC. “What an idiot,” I thought of the pilot of some imagined prop-plane that had accidentally flown into a tall building. In the ensuing moments I learned what actually happened – it was no prop-plane and it didn’t seem to be an accident.

The Internet news sites, their servers swamped, were about as useful as smoke signals to the blind. Most cell phone lines were busy. I tried to get in touch with a college friend whose apartment next to the WTC I had actually stayed in one winter break. He was unreachable. All work stopped as people sat around radios and TVs. Even though I was nowhere near the site of the attacks, nor were any of my loved ones, we called each other anyway, just to say we were safe.

We were sent home early from work. The Boston T was giving free rides to people, but before I got on I had to just sit in the Commons for a while and cry.

I can’t remember why my apartment didn’t have a TV at the time, but we didn’t. So I spent the rest of the day glued to the fuzzy reception of the TV in the apartment below mine. We didn’t really learn anything that day from the anchors, but we couldn’t stop watching the repetition of the planes hitting the building. It was like watching those old films of JFK getting shot.

At some point I remembered that a few months before I was in NYC with two friends and we bought tickets to go to the top of the WTC. $11, way over-priced I thought. As we rounded the corner from the ticket desk to get to the elevators, we saw a sign that read “At least a 45 minute wait from here to the elevators.” The line was at “here.” Screw this, we thought. We’ve got more important things to do on our day in the City. Besides, the ticket was good for one year. I still have the ticket.

Say what you will about the underlying causes of September 11th regarding American foreign policy; or the way its aftermath was handled by the administration, country singers, and the American public (ala Freedom Fries); or the way it continues to be a rallying cry for nearly everything under the sun – but that day was a world-shaker for me.

I’m not going to inflate the importance of my work here, but I really believe that PC as a whole is making strides toward its ultimate goal of world peace and friendship, and preventing more 9/11s in all countries against all peoples. Let’s remember that while living abroad, PCVs are supposed to be showing host-country nationals that we’re really not all bad – AND, when we go home we become our host-countries’ emissaries, showing Americans that everyone else is really a lot like us.

Little Easter

As mentioned previously, Easter in Moldova operates a little differently than it does in America.  First of all, Orthodox Easter begins the week after America's Easter, and it runs for about 8 days.  On the last day, a Monday, everyone goes to the cemetary to have their food blessed (again) and to have little picnics beside the graves of loved ones.  The cemetary is prepared for this, as it is strewn with built-in picnic tables and benches.  I rather like the idea - it seems to celebrate the lives of those lost rather than morn over them.  And as it is done yearly, Moldovans seem to stay in closer contact with those departed than we do in America.  [Or maybe it's just me, but I've never gone to a ceremony outside of a funeral.]

Women's Day, Water, and Ukraine

March 8th is Women's Day, but we celebrated it yesterday. In my
village, it's basically the same as Man's Day (which used to be the
Soviet Army Day and took place about a month ago). My tutor invited
me to her school's festivities - a big lunch, lots of speeches,
dancing, drinking, me repeatedly explaining that actually I don't
want any more wine or cognac, funny games, and small gifts. The same
thing happened at the mayor's office after 5pm. I'm not really going
into a lot of detail here because I'm a bit partied out right now.
One can take only so much.

USAID and the Urban Institute came to our village this week to
celebrate the finish of a water project that built three small water
towers and ran a new pipe down one street. That was a good day. I
had three lunches as I and the other "dignitaries" were carted around
town to see where future projects might take place.

Was planning on going to Bolgrad, Ukraine today to do some shopping
with Mom, but learned that for some reason only people who officially
have documentation that states they live in Copceac can cross the
border at this one spot - God knows why. Up until last night, I was
still raring to go - I think in part because so many people had told
me (incorrectly) that it couldn't be done. For example, our office
passport "expert" kept insisting that I needed a Ukrainian visa, when
I am 100% certain that as an American I do not. Peace Corps is
certain that I do not and approves day trips like this for PCVs who
live near the border all the time. I even know Americans currently
living in Ukraine without visas. But eventually I threw up my hands
at the red tape wall that was continually mounting. Really, the
market in Bolgrad is nothing to write home about so it's not worth
the headache. I think I was just itching for a little adventure -
even getting (erroneously) turned back at the border would be a new
excursion. Maybe I'll figure out a way to go some other time, but
now I can look forward to a weekend of R&R...

Merry Christmas II

Merry Christmas, Moldovan style. January 7th was the big day over here, so on the 6th, my mayor informed me that we would go out caroling. So I reported back to the office at 5pm as told. At 6pm everyone else arrived, and then I learned that we would be singing in drag with much face paint (naturally). After rummaging around in the Cultural Center’s “costume room” for 30 minutes looking for dresses that would fit over our heavy coats, we were off complete with an accordion player and a drummer.




Now we I say “caroling,” this is not the peaceful harmonious caroling of America. This is the wild, dancing, cacophonic – and did I mention in drag? – Moldovan yellers. At each home we would essentially force ourselves inside, do a few numbers while the “hosts” scrambled to quickly bring out some food and drink. I couldn’t help but be aware of my American sensibilities of privacy and forewarning. How would I feel if about 10 wild men (some of whom toward the end of the evening, or as the sun rose, were pretty tipsy) showed up on my doorstep, forced themselves inside, and made bull moose mating calls sound like Beethoven? I’ll let you decide how you’d feel – but the people here loved it!



In other Christmas news, at my last English Klub meeting, my students presented me with a gift of a small porcelain dog to represent health and happiness the our new zodiac Year of the Dog. It was quite unexpected and very moving.



All the above happened on Friday. On Saturday, I spent most of the day preparing for my week-long PC training in the capital, e.g. doing laundry. I’ve got to say, it becomes quite a process in the winter when there is no running water, no working drains, no washing machine, and no dryer. My PC-issued electric heater functions well as the latter and I’ve become quite adept at draping as many articles of clothing on, in, and around it as possible. So much so, that everything I started washing on Saturday morning was dry by the time I left my apartment Sunday at 4:45am (except for the bed sheets, but they can just hang all week while I’m away).

If you want to know where I’m going, it’s to Chisinau for a week-long PC training. I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone again, hot showers, and a really big salad.

New Year's

My New Year’s Eve was hardly a wild one, but satisfying nonetheless. Fellow PCV Krista came for the weekend, and though her company was welcome so too was the packet of taco mix and Honey Nut Cheerios she brought with her, courtesy of a care package from America [Mom & Dad – don’t read into this – I love your care packages too.] As I learned how to do in Uzbekistan, I made tortillas (because where else would an American learn to make Mexican tortillas except in a former-Soviet republic), bought some unexpectedly cheap tomatoes for this time of year, took a taxi to the closest city to find some chopped meat (that wasn’t ground turkey which happened to be available in my local bazaar that day). The chopped meat was frozen solid, but a few hours in a plastic bag on my Frisbee on my electric heater thawed it sufficiently.

After a cold spell for the last couple of weeks, the weather turned surprisingly warm, which made the New Year’s Eve outdoor festivities much more enjoyable. Starting around 8pm, several hundred people gathered in the center of the village (see the pictures I took on Dec 30th, sans several hundred people – and yes, that’s a statue of Stalin by the Christmas tree).




There was much dancing and champagne toasts and absurd contests for best singing or best costume – only a few children dressed up, but I think the winner was a 6-year old Spider-man. Around 10pm a decent fireworks show (for Moldova) started off the roof of the Cultural Center. And though the weather did warm for the occasion, it was still cold and I admit that I was tucked in bed by around 11:45, and probably drifted off just as the clock struck twelve.

An interesting cultural note: unlike Times Square where everyone stays out for the climatic midnight year-change, here everyone rushes home by 11:30 to celebrate the passing of the year with their families. They eat dinner at midnight, which is when the president comes on TV to say hello. Then some go back out around 1 or 2am, and hit the local disco, where I heard music still playing at 6:30am on January 1, 2006. And presents are given on New Year’s Day, not Dec. 25.

Also pictured here is our office party, where one game we played involved me being a tree, my mayor counterpart Oleg being a horse, and the man upon his back (our driver) is playing the part of the prince. Good times.

'Tis the Season

My first Christmas overseas has come and gone, and despite being away from friends, family, American food, and 100% indoor plumbing it was pretty great. I took a 10-minute taxi ride from my village to the nearest city, Taraclia, where I picked up a bus and traveled 1.5 hours west to the city of Cahul. From there I took another taxi, this time north about 25 minutes to Zirnesti, a village where another PCV, Joanna, lives.

Joanna had done her place up quite well, complete with a mini-Christmas tree, which we decorated. I brought my guitar and some print-outs of the words to Christmas carols and I must say our small group of carolers did quite well on Jingle Bell Rock, Silent Night, and The 12 Days of Christmas.


We watched a few movies and feasted on an excellent lasagna that Joanna and her coux (sp?) chef, Krystal, baked for the occasion.

Special thanks must be made to Krista, who gave me a bag of made-from-scratch bagels that she baked. Since I love bagels and they do not exist in Moldova, it really made my day. Definitely among the top-5 Christmas presents ever received.

And though I haven't done it yet, in about 3 hours I can call my entire family at my Aunt Gail's house in NJ, where they've gathered for the day. Really looking forward to speaking with everyone!

Gobble, Gobble

Thanksgiving was a blast - all PCVs came into the capital for an AMAZING dinner prepared by PCVs for about 175 people. It far exceeded my expectations. We played football and held a talent show before and after dinner. Thanks to all who did the cooking and hope everyone back in the States had half as tasty a meal as I did.

Also, special thanks to Mark and Chrissy who recently finished their service and are right about now eating Chinese food in America. They treated Krista and I to an awesome meal in Chisinua. This picture is us being cold after the meal on the walk home to the hotel.